


A slap to the face.

by unacaritafeliz



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Grand Prix Final Banquet, M/M, Misunderstandings, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Viktor is extra Yuuri is drunk and Yura cares a lot more than he pretends to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22387876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unacaritafeliz/pseuds/unacaritafeliz
Summary: Viktor glares. It's easy for Chris to say that he shouldn't worry about his soulmark. Chris has twin handprints erotically tattooed on either side of his hips. He has nothing to hide, unlike Viktor, who has a dark handprint literally slapped across his cheek.What a scandal that would be if it broke out; Viktor Nikiforov, Russia's darling, figure skating living legend, five time winner of the Grand Prix Final, so fucked up as a human being that even his soulmate hated him on first sight. Viktor shudders at the thought. The world can never know about his secret shame.[Soulmate AU where your skin is stained in the first place your soulmate touches]
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 26
Kudos: 668





	A slap to the face.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Slap Me Baby!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275586) by [ehhlliie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehhlliie/pseuds/ehhlliie). 



"Cherie," comes the low grumble of Chris' voice from somewhere vaguely on Viktor's right. "I know you're the most beautiful man in the world, but you could pay attention to someone other than yourself for once in your life."

Viktor spares a second to frown at his best friend before he returns his attention to the compact mirror in his hand, which he's using to stare at his makeup covered cheek.

"Lost my concealer at the rink," Viktor says in explanation, tilting his face so that the light bounces off his skin. He can't see anything through the concealer, but he needs to make sure it's completely covered. "Had to borrow Mila's."

"Ah," Chris says. He pulls the mirror away, tucks his fingers under Viktor's chin and tilts it upward, ignoring Viktor's squawk of protest. "You've really caked it on, Vitya, but it's worked. I can't see anything."

"Are you sure?" Viktor asks, nervously twisting his hands together as Chris drops his face. He's self-conscious, now that he can't see the skin himself, but he resists the urge to pluck the compact back from Chris' hand. "I've never used this brand before. I don't know how good the coverage is, or how long it will last. Mila said it would be fine, but maybe I should just go back to my room...."

"You can't skip the banquet, Vitya," Chris says, with a sigh. "I'm sure it'll be fine. I wish you wouldn't worry about it so much anyway."

Viktor glares. It's easy for Chris to say that he shouldn't worry about his soulmark. Chris has twin handprints erotically tattooed on either side of his hips. He has nothing to hide, unlike Viktor, who has a dark handprint literally slapped across his cheek.

What a scandal that would be if it broke out; Viktor Nikiforov, Russia's darling, figure skating living legend, five time winner of the Grand Prix Final, so fucked up as a human being that even his soulmate hated him on first sight. Viktor shudders at the thought. The world can never know about his secret shame.

"Some of us need to worry about our soulmarks, Christophe," Viktor mutters, even though he knows it won't make a difference. Chris never listens to him anyway. "We're not all blessed with sexy ones."

"I happen to think your soulmark is very sexy, cherie," Chris replies, because of course Chris thinks being slapped upon first meeting is sexy. "Come, Vitya. Let's get a drink and go meet the sponsors. I think Calvin Klein will sign us for a joint underwear campaign this year."

Viktor frowns as Chris waggles his eyebrows at him. Viktor knows he just won the Grand Prix final, but the last thing he wants to do is talk to people. It's not even just about the soulmark; he's tired of all of this; tired of the attention, the flattery, even of winning. He doesn't want to be here. He just wants to sleep.

"The sooner you talk to people, the sooner you can head back to your room," Chris says.

Viktor sighs. Chris has a point there.

"Fine," Viktor relents. "Can I have my compact back at least?"

"And spend the rest of your night staring at your reflection?" Chris asks. He spins the compact once in his palm before he slides it into his pocket. "I don't think so. The sponsors will think you're bratty, darling."

"Christophe," Viktor says, warningly. He has a good sense of humour about a lot of things, but his soulmark is the one thing he actually cares about.

Chris' playful smirk drops from his face, his eyes becoming more somber and serious. In spite of his teasing, Viktor knows that Chris knows how important hiding his soulmark is to him, even if Chris has never really understood why.

"I just don't want you worrying about it all night, Vitya," Chris says, quietly. "I promise I'll keep an eye on it for you. I'll let you know the second I see even a smudge on that pretty little cheek of yours, okay?"

Viktor sighs. It's not a perfect solution, but he trusts Chris, and he knows Yakov and Yura and Mila will all be keeping an eye out for it anyway. Besides, he doesn't really want to look like someone so obsessed with their own reflection that they can't focus on anyone else. That's not who Viktor is, or who he wants to be, at all.

"Okay," Viktor says. "I'm trusting you with this, Christophe."

"Of course you are," Chris says, hooking his arm in Viktor and pulling him towards the drinks tables. "And you'll owe me half of all sponsorship deals you get tonight, okay? Especially joint underwear commercials."

Viktor rolls his eyes. He really doesn't think he'll land any new sponsorship deals today. He's just going to make a quick round of the room, talk to all the people he absolutely needs to and then he's going to run back to his room, where no one can discover his soulmark, and no one will ask him about how happy he is to have won the Grand Prix Final... again.

* * *

"Yo, check out Katsuki," Yura says, leaning against the wall next to Viktor.

"Hmmm?" Viktor hums, distractedly. He's trying to check his reflection in a spoon because Chris disappeared to the bathroom at least ten minutes ago along with Viktor's compact mirror. He can't see anything in the dull metal. "Yura, can you see anything on my face?"

"What?" says Yura, distractedly. He tears his eyes away from the corner of the room and looks at Viktor. "No, I can't see your stupid-ass soulmark, old man."

Viktor's sure that Yura's mission in life is to accidentally-on-purpose reveal the true nature of Viktor's soulmark. Not only because Yura is an irritable teenager who thrives on angst and other people's misery, but because Yura doesn't have his own soulmark and so feels a particular bitterness towards them specifically.

For the record, Viktor thinks Yura must have once had a soulmark, but lost it when he was too young to remember it. It's not impossible, given Yura's family situation. Yura has declared this a "stupid-ass" theory, but Viktor knows he finds it comforting. Everyone just want to know that they're loved, and Viktor and Yura are no exceptions, despite their unique soulmark predicaments.

"Yura, shhh," Viktor hisses, glancing around nervously to see if anyone is listening. Thankfully, the two of them seem to be alone. "Someone will hear you."

"Whatever," Yura says, rolling his eyes. "As I was saying, look at Katsuki."

Yura jerks his head toward the corner of the room, and Viktor glances over to where a dark haired man is downing a glass of champagne with remarkable speed. He sets the empty glass down on the table next to half a dozen others. He pauses for a moment, facing nothing but the boring blank wall of the banquet hall, but turns when a waiter walks past, swiping another glass off the tray.

"Oh, wow," says Viktor, stunned, as the gold liquid disappears into the man at an alarming velocity. "Do you think he drank all of those empty ones himself? That can't be healthy."

"Yeah, I watched him do it," says Yura. "He must need them after what happened today."

Viktor puts a gloved finger to his mouth, frowning as he tries to work out what Yura is referring to. Between the Grand Prix Final and losing his concealer, Viktor's been paying even less attention to what's happening around him than he usually does. There must have been something bad that happened to this man, Viktor tries to think of what it could be.

"Oh!" says Viktor as it clicks. "Is he that Japanese skater? The one that came last?"

"Yeah, he fucked up on every single jump," Yura sneers. "And then I caught him crying in the bathroom like a fucking baby."

Viktor's heart thumps uncomfortably in his chest. The Japanese skater, Katsuki, must have been having a really bad day to fuck up all his jumps. He had made it to the finals after all, which means he must usually be a pretty good skater. And regardless, no one deserves to be holed up in a bathroom crying after their skate. He doesn't suppose being found crying by Yura would've been very comforting either.

"Tell me you at least had the sense to ignore him," Viktor says. Yura stays quiet. Viktor looks over at him, fearing the worst. "Yuri Nikolaevich, please tell me you didn't yell at that poor man, while he was crying, in a bathroom."

Yura stays quiet, though the sneer is gone from his face. His eyes are glued on Katsuki, something akin to regret settling on their surface. Viktor sighs.

"Come on," he says, grabbing on to Yura's elbow. "We'll go see if he's okay."

"What?" Yura yells, looking panicked. "Viktor! Why?"

Viktor rolls his eyes, ignoring Yura as he drags him over to where Katsuki is starting on yet another glass of champagne. Viktor stops next to the man, and reaches out one gloved hand to tap Katsuki firmly on the shoulder, his gloved fingers pressing into Katsuki's dark suit jacket.

"Uh, excuse me, Katsuki?" Viktor says.

Katsuki turns around and Viktor's heart stumbles. He wasn't expecting it but Katsuki is _pretty_ , with soft round cheeks, flushed red from the alcohol he's been drinking, and gorgeous, if slightly hazy, warm brown eyes. Viktor can't take his eyes off him, but Katsuki's not looking at Viktor.

"Yuri Plisetsky!" Katsuki says, pointing a soulmark-stained finger towards the teenager. His soulmark covers the entirety of his right palm. Viktor absently thinks it could be a match for his, if only it didn't mean Katsuki would have to slap him with it. "You think you're so great, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah?" Yura says. He takes a step away from Katsuki, his cheeks significantly pinker than they were a moment ago. Yura, being underage, can't even blame it on the alcohol.

"Bet you can't beat me at a dance off," Katsuki sing-songs, waggling his eyebrows.

Viktor's bursts out laughing. The idea of Yura actually having a dance-off with Katsuki, who is quite clearly drunk off his ass, at this stuffy banquet Viktor doesn't even want to be at is quite possibly the funniest thing he's heard in years. It's almost a shame that Yura would never go for it.

"What?" says Yura, his blush heightening. "Of course I could beat you. Meet me on the dance floor, loser."

Viktor's blinks. That was unexpected.

Katsuki smirks, downing his glass of champagne and slamming it down on the table. He shrugs his jacket off and throws it in Viktor's arms, his hand sweeping carelessly across Viktor's jacket sleeve. He grabs Yura by the hand, ignores the strangled noise the teenager makes, and drags him to the dance floor.

Viktor should... probably stop this before someone embarrasses themselves in front of a room full of sponsors and ISU officials. But this dance off sounds like the most fun thing that's happened at a skating event in years and would give him something to tease Yura about for the rest of his career...

Viktor will keep an eye on it. He'll stop it when it starts getting out of hand.

* * *

His first name is Yuuri, Viktor discovers, and he's wonderful.

Yuuri's dance off with Yura had been even more fun than Viktor had expected. Not only had Yura completely embarrassed himself trying to break dance, but Yuuri had moved with such musicality, such confidence, that Viktor had been completely drawn in, captivated by Yuuri's performance. After winning against Yura, Yuuri had challenged Mila, Mila's girlfriend Sara, Sara's brother Mickey and a dozen other people Viktor didn't even know.

And, then, he'd asked Chris.

Which is why Katsuki Yuuri is now hanging onto a pole, wearing nothing but his tie and his underwear, body suspended midair, completely perpendicular to the ground, with an equally naked Christophe Giacometti resting his weight on his shoulders.

Viktor has never loved or hated his best friend more. He drains his glass of champagne and places it down on the table in front of him.

"Yura," Viktor says, breathless. "I think I'm in love."

"Ugh," says Yura, eloquently.

Viktor pays him no attention. Yura's just mad that Yuuri beat him so indisputably in their dance off. Besides, how could Viktor even spare a moment of attention for Yura when he could be paying attention to Yuuri?

Yuuri and Chris climb down from the pole, bodies flushed and sweaty, laughing and embracing each other. Viktor feels a flash of jealousy run through his body as he watches Chris help Yuuri into his dress shirt, before leaning in to press a kiss to each of Yuuri's red cheeks in turn. They seem very familiar with each other. Viktor wonders where they met.

"The fuck are you doing?" Yura asks.

Viktor's on his feet, already three steps closer to Yuuri and Chris than he was mere moments ago. He honestly has no idea what he's doing. He doesn't even remember making the decision to move.

"No idea," Viktor says. "Wish me luck."

Ignoring Yura's annoyed groan, Viktor takes a deep breath, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, as he walks over to the pair. Chris is attempting to help Yuuri into his pants, but Yuuri is too distracted tying his atrocious blue tie around his head like a karate headband. It should be ridiculous but, like everything else Yuuri does, Viktor just finds it charming. 

"Hey," says Viktor, stopping next to Chris and Yuuri. He gestures towards Yuuri's pants. "Need any help with that?"

Yuuri looks away from Chris and stares up at Viktor with his pretty brown eyes. He blinks a few times in confusion before an enormous smile bursts across his face. He throws himself at Viktor, wrapping his arms tightly around Viktor's waist and pinning Viktor's arms to his sides.

"Viktor!" Yuuri yells, bright and happy against Viktor's chest. "My family owns a onsen, after the season ends, please come visit us!"

Viktor's heart thumps so loudly in his chest he's sure Yuuri can hear it. Hell, he's sure Yura can hear it from his seat across the hall. Georgi can probably hear it back in Russia. Yuuri pulls away so their eyes meet. His eyes are sparkling. Viktor is speechless.

"If I win this dance off, you'll become my coach, right?" Yuuri asks.

Yes, Viktor thinks wildly. He's never considered coaching before, but if Yuuri's asking him to, then of course he will. He doesn't think there's anything he wouldn't do, if it kept that smile on Yuuri's face.

"Be my coach, Viktor!" Yuuri exclaims happily, throwing his arms around Viktor's neck. Viktor feels a blush spread across his nose and cheeks. He only briefly despairs that Chris got Yuuri's shirt back on him, wishing he could feel the warm skin of Yuuri's arms against his neck.

"Y-you'll have to beat me first, Yuuri," Viktor says, his voice pitched low. He can hear Chris snort at his woeful attempts at flirting and shoots a glare towards his best friend. Chris wiggles Yuuri's pants towards him. "And you need to put your pants back on too, Solnyshko."

Viktor blinks. He hadn't meant to use the term of endearment, but it had slipped unbidden from his tongue. He can't bring himself to want to take it back though, not when Yuuri's face lights up like the sun itself.

"Fine!" Yuuri declares. He snatches the pants from Chris and aggressively shoves them on. He leaves the shirt unbuttoned though, giving Viktor full view of his glorious abs. "You're on, Nikiforov."

He grabs Viktor by the hand, his fingers fitting themselves into the spaces between Viktor's glove, and drags him to the dance floor. Yuuri shuts his eyes for a second, bobbing his head to the beat of the music, and then starts dancing.

His moves are over exaggerated, ridiculously so, but somehow still hold more grace and musicality than all but Viktor's most refined programs. Viktor laughs as he tries to keep up, copying all the ridiculous jumps, twists and arm movements Yuuri is doing. He knows everyone in the hall must be staring at them, they might even be recording this and god knows Lilia will skin him alive if she ever sees footage of him dancing so gracelessly, but Viktor doesn't care. For the first time in his life he doesn't give a shit about what anyone else thinks of him. All that matters is Yuuri.

Viktor's heart soars. He hasn't had this much fun in years, hasn't felt this alive in his entire life. Winning gold, standing on top of a podium, could never, ever, compare to this.

The song transitions into a new one, and Yuuri takes both Viktor's hands in his, spinning them around in circles.

"Viktor!" Yuuri yells, happily. "Did I win?"

"Yes," Viktor answers, breathlessly. Not that there was any question of who would win their dance off - Yuuri could've fallen asleep on the dance floor, and Viktor still would've declared him the winner. "Of course you won, Solnyshko."

"Yes!" Yuuri says, throwing both his fists in the air and wiggling his body happily. It's quite possibly the most adorable thing Viktor's ever seen. "Now you'll become my coach, and you'll stay with me forever!"

Before Viktor can respond, Yuuri spins him again, one hand firm around Viktor's back and the other clutching Viktor's gloved palm. Yuuri laughs, dragging Viktor across the dance floor in a drunken tango. Viktor's feels like his face is going to split clean in two, with how wide he's smiling.

Yuuri dips him, his arm strongly secured against the Viktor's back. He brings his other hand to Viktor's face, splaying his fingers gently across Viktor's cheek. Viktor's face bursts into flame under the heat of the look Yuuri's giving him, hazy with lust and alcohol, and yet warm and open and affectionate. He looks at Viktor like he's something important, something precious, something worth protecting.

No one's ever looked at Viktor like that before.

Yuuri drags him back up, bringing their foreheads together. They've stopped dancing, standing stationary in the middle of the dance floor, chests heaving as they try to catch their breaths. Viktor closes his eyes, trying to commit this feeling to memory.

This is something he never, ever wants to forget.

"Stay with me forever, Viktor," Yuuri whispers.

Viktor's never considered forever before. The only love he's ever known before is love for the ice and, as his aching knees constantly remind him, he can't give himself to the ice forever. Yuuri though? Maybe Viktor could give himself to Yuuri forever, if Yuuri could keep making him feel like this.

Viktor can feel the warmth of Yuuri's breath on his lips. It would be so easy to tip his chin up and kiss him. Viktor's wanted to kiss him since he beat Yura at that goddamn break dance, all those hours ago.

But Viktor can also smell the alcohol on Yuuri's breath. He knows he can't.

Viktor opens his eyes, taking a step back away from Yuuri.

"We should get you back to your room," Viktor says, softly.

"Okay," says Yuuri. He takes Viktor's hand again, his fingers fitting perfectly in the space between Viktor's glove. "Let's go."

Yuuri grabs a bottle of champagne off the bar on the way out. Viktor lets him.

* * *

They take the long way back to Yuuri's room, ambling hand-in-glove through the hotel. Yuuri had kept up a steady stream of conversation as they had walked, telling Viktor all about his hometown, and his family, and all the fun things they can eat and see and do when Viktor comes to coach him. Viktor's heart never slows it's frantic beating. He actually feels excited, thinking about life with Yuuri in Japan. He can't even remember the last time he felt this excited about anything.

Eventually though, they reach Yuuri's door and Viktor holds Yuuri steady as Yuuri grabs his wallet out from his pocket, opening it to check every available spot before he finally finds his keycard.

"Are you going to come in?" says Yuuri, waggling his eyebrows. It's a little too uncoordinated to be sexy, but, since it's Yuuri, Viktor's charmed by it anyway. His heart aches to say yes, to spend more time with this wonderful boy who has enchanted him so completely, but he knows it's not proper, not when Yuuri's had so much to drink.

"I can't, Solnyshko," Viktor says. Yuuri frowns, and Viktor brings up a hand to smooth away the crease between Yuuri's eyebrows. "But I'll come see you before I leave tomorrow, okay?"

"Do you promise?" Yuuri asks.

Viktor grins. He's not good with promises, but he knows he won't forget this one.

"Yes, Yuuri," Viktor says, softly. "I promise."

Viktor takes Yuuri's right hand in his, lifting it up so that he can press his mouth to the smooth, pale skin of Yuuri's palm.

Something clicks in Viktor's brain and he pauses, pulling Yuuri's hand away from his lips to stares at it in confusion. Viktor's been drinking today and his brain is a little fuzzy, but he could have sworn that Yuuri had a soulmark on his right palm at the start of the night. He remembers looking at it when Yuuri had challenged Yura to the dance battle, remembers thinking that Yuuri could slap him with that hand and have their soulmarks line up.

Viktor grabs Yuuri's left hand, and inspects his palm. It's the same colour, slightly more tanned than the rest of Yuuri's skin, but nowhere near the dark wine colour of a soulmark. Viktor feels like he's been punched in the throat. Yuuri's soulmark is gone. Yuuri met his soulmate tonight, sometime between challenging Yura Plisetsky to dance and Viktor kissing his palm goodnight.

But Yuuri didn't slap Viktor.

Which means Viktor's not his soulmate.

"Yuuri," Viktor says, swallowing against the panic rising in his throat. "Your soulmark's gone."

"My soulmark?" Yuuri asks, frowning in confusion. He looks down at his hand, staring at it for a moment before recognition flashes across his face. His eyes light up. "It's gone! Viktor! My soulmark is gone!"

Viktor's heart swoops and dips and crashes at the glee in Yuuri's eyes. He was so caught up in the euphoria of Katsuki Yuuri that he hadn't even thought about soulmates. He hadn't needed to be Yuuri's soulmate to have moved to Japan with him, but he knows he can't possibly take Yuuri away from his soulmate, not when he's just found them.

Viktor wonders who could be. He knows it's not Yura or Mila or Sara, but there are plenty of people who Yuuri danced with tonight, not to mention any waiters or sponsors or coaches Yuuri could have brushed his hand against, and any of them could be his soulmate. Fuck, Yuuri's hands were all over Chris tonight when they danced on the pole, and Viktor was paying too much attention to Yuuri's face and abs to even notice if Chris still had his twin handprints against his hips.

God, Viktor does not want to watch the love of his life fall in love with his best friend.

"Do you know who it is, Yuuri?" Viktor asks, even though he doesn't want to know. "Do you remember who you touched?"

"You!" Yuuri says, happily. He throws his arms around Viktor's shoulders, pressing his face into Viktor's neck. "I touched you, Viktor! You're my soulmate!"

For a moment Viktor lets himself believe it. For a moment he imagines a world where Katsuki Yuuri, this wonderful boy who had downed 16 flutes of champagne and made Viktor feel happier and more alive than he had in years, was his soulmate and that they would kiss and hug and get married and adopt an entire litter of poodles. For a moment, Viktor sees a future where he's happy and loved and wanted.

But Viktor's soulmate isn't going to sweep him off his feet with dancing and a smile that could move mountains. Viktor's soulmate is going to knock him off his feet with a slap to the face. Viktor Nikiforov has never been a good person; he deserves a soulmate like that.

He could never deserve Katsuki Yuuri.

"Yuuri," Viktor breathes. There's tears pricking the corner of his eyes and Viktor swallows, willing them not to fall. He hasn't cried in years, there's no reason to start now. "Lyubimy. It's not me."

He hears Yuuri's sharp intake of breath right next to his ear before Yuuri pushes at his shoulders, stumbling back from Viktor like his touch burns.

"Right," says Yuuri, sounding a lot more sober than he did only moments ago. His eyes stare at the floor, instead of at Viktor. "Of course it's not. That'd be dumb."

Viktor's heart breaks. It's clear that Yuuri doesn't think that Viktor wants him and Viktor wishes he could tell him otherwise. Viktor wants Yuuri more than he could ever put into words, but he knows he can't have him. Yuuri doesn't know what he wants, he doesn't know Viktor, not really, not as anything other than a champion figure skater and a media personality that smiles for the camera, and keeps the one honest thing about himself hidden beneath layers of concealer.

Yuuri's better of without Viktor. Viktor has to let Yuuri go.

"Yuuri..." Viktor starts."

"You don't have to say anything," says Yuuri. His mouth quirks into a soft smile, tears forming in his eyes. Viktor shatters. "Thank you for dancing with me, Viktor."

Yuuri opens the door and steps inside the room. He goes to close the door and Viktor flings out an arm to stop it.

"Yuuri, please," Viktor begs. He doesn't even know what he's begging for, he just knows that he doesn't want Yuuri to leave like this.

"Viktor," says Yuuri, firmly, splitting the name into two crisp and distinct syllable. "Let it go."

Viktor does.

The door slams in his face.

* * *

It's Mila and Sara that find him, sitting alone in the hallway outside Yuuri's room, feeling sorry for himself with his knees tucked into his chest. Viktor supposes it could be worse - Yura could have found him or, God forbid, Yakov - but it's not like either Mila or Sara would understand. They lost their soulmarks at fifteen years old, shaking hands at the top of the junior world's podium.

What would they know about being 27 with an unknown soulmate who hates them, and a beautiful, life changing boy laughing just beyond their reach?

"Vitya?" asks Mila, squatting down to rest her hands on Viktor's knees. "You doing okay there, bud?"

Viktor groans in response. Mila sighs.

"Alright, Vitya, let's get you to your room," she says, holding a hand out to him.

Viktor knows he should take her hand, but also he'd quite like to sit on the floor and feel sorry for himself a little longer. Mila rolls her eyes at him, before grabbing both of his hands and hauling him to his feet.

"Are you okay, Viktor?" Sara asks, quietly, wrapping her arm around Viktor's waist to stablise him. Viktor flashes back to Yuuri's arm around his waist and shakes his head. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Viktor shakes his head again. He doesn't want to talk about anything ever for the rest of his life. Sara sighs, but presses closer to him, wrapping her other arm around him too.

"I'll take him to his room," Mila says to her soulmate. "I'll meet you in your room in ten?"

Sara nods and presses her lips gently to Viktor's cheek before she lets go off. Mila hooks her arm around Viktor's elbow and pulls him towards the elevator. VIktor can feel Sara's gaze on the back of his head. He doesn't relax until they're in the elevator, and the doors have shut behind him.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Mila asks, hitting Viktor's floor number and leaning back against the wall.

"Yuuri lost his soulmark," Viktor mumbles to the elevators weirdly patterned carpet. "It's not me."

Mila's silent for a beat. "Are you sure, Vitya?" she asks.

The elevator stops with a ding, and the doors slide open to reveal a completely empty, and completely boring, hallway. Mila grabs his arm and pulls him down the hallway.

"I'm sure," Viktor says. "I would have noticed if he'd slapped me."

Mila hums noncommittally, fishing Viktor's wallet out of his pocket and opening the door, pushing Viktor through with a firm hand to the back of his neck.

"We didn't have to be soulmates," Viktor says, as Mila pushes him into the bathroom and down onto the closed toilet seat. "It would have been enough to just love him, even if it was just for a night. But he found his soulmate tonight. How could I take him away from that?"

"How could you indeed?" Mila mutters, distracted. She's rifling through his bathroom suitcase, eventually emerging with his toothbrush and a soft, white microfiber cloth. She wets the cloth and kneels down in front of Viktor, moving her hand up so she can rub the cloth against VIktor's face. He catches her hand before she can.

"Leave it," Viktor tells her, sharply. "I don't want to see it ever again."

Mila very gently pulls his hand away from hers, tangling their fingers together as she gently swipes the cloth across his forehead with her other hand. "I'm not letting you sleep in concealer, Vitya," she says, firmly. "Your skin would never forgive me."

Viktor sighs, closing his eyes and leaning into her gentle touch. She cleans his forehead first, and then the right side of his face. Viktor shuts his eyes even tighter as the microfiber cloth moves to his left cheek. Stupid fucking soulmark. God he wishes he could just give it to Yura.

Mila rubs the cloth against his left cheek, once, twice and then again. She untangles their fingers so she can hold his face as she rubs the cloth against his cheek a fourth time, harder this time than she did before.

"Vitya," Mila says, very, very, very quietly. "Your soulmark's gone."

Viktor's eyes pop open.

Mila's staring at him, eyes wide with shock but so sincere that he knows she's not joking. Viktor stares back at her for a moment, then two, before launching out of his seat to stare at his face in the mirror.

He runs his hand over the smooth, pale, unblemished skin of his left cheek in confusion. He doesn't understand; his soulmark is clearly gone, but how could he have lost it? No one had slapped him across the face at the banquet. Viktor's tipsy, but not drunk enough to forget something like that.

"It doesn't make sense," Viktor whispers. "No one slapped me."

Mila gets up from the ground and takes a step towards him. She puts a hand against his cheek, turning his face so she can look him in the eyes. Her hand rests against his skin, so soft, so gentle, just like...

Viktor's heart stops beating.

"Why have you always thought they were going to slap you, Viktor?" Mila asks, quietly.

On the dance floor, Yuuri had cradled Viktor's cheek so gently, looking at him as if he were something important, something precious, something worth protecting. And Viktor, tipsy with alcohol and drunk on his wholehearted belief that his soulmate was going to furiously slap him across the face as their first skin-to-skin contact, hadn't even noticed that Yuuri's gentle hand would have been in the exact same position as the handprint on his cheek.

"Fuck," says Viktor, remembering the broken look on Yuuri's face when Viktor said he wasn't his soulmate. "Mila, I fucked up."

"Vitya," says Mila, softly, calmly. "Go."

Viktor _runs_.

* * *

Viktor sighs, leaning his forehead against the door of Yuuri's room. He's been knocking, increasingly more frantically, and yelling Yuuri's name for well over a minute, and Yuuri hasn't answered. As much as Viktor doesn't want to be ignored, he doesn't blame Yuuri. Viktor doesn't even want to be around Viktor right now.

Viktor takes a deep breath and stares at the door, firming his resolve. He knows he fucked up, knows he doesn't deserve Yuuri's forgiveness but Yuuri is his soulmate. The universe knew all Viktor's flaws and gave him to Yuuri anyway.

He'll try again.

"Yuuri!" Viktor yells, fist pounding on the wood of the hotel room door. "Please open up! I'm sorry, I was wrong, I am your..."

Viktor's interrupted by a slamming sound behind him. He turns to see Yura Plisetsky, dressed in blue polka-dot pyjamas, glaring at him with more venom than anyone else could muster.

"It's the middle of the fucking night," Yura snarls. "Shut the fuck up, Viktor."

"Sorry," says Viktor. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "It's just… Yuuri won't answer."

"He's probably asleep," says Yura. "You can talk to your dumb ass boyfriend in the morning."

"He's not my boyfriend," Viktor says, dejectedly. He wishes Yuuri was his boyfriend. Yuuri should be his boyfriend. Yuuri would be his boyfriend, if only Viktor wasn't so fucking useless. "He's my soulmate."

It's only for a moment, but Yura's masks falls. For a single, tiny, moment, the boy who stands in front of Viktor is not an irritable, angry, Junior Grand Prix Final gold medalist, but a young boy who desperately wants to be loved in spite of the lack of a soulmark on his skin.

And then Yura glares at him, and the moment's over.

"Whatever," Yura says. "Talk to your goddamn _soulmate_ in the morning."

"He doesn't know," says Viktor, desperately. "I fucked up and he doesn't know and I don't even have his number, Yura, what if I can't find him tomorrow? Then he'll never know and he'll hate me..."

"Ugh," Yura yells, cutting him off. He slams his door shut so hard Viktor swears the walls shake. If that's not enough to bring Yuuri out of his room, then there's nothing Viktor can do that would.

Viktor glances wistfully at Yuuri's door. He'll just have to try again tomorrow morning. Maybe he can wake up really early tomorrow and camp out in the lobby to be sure he catches Yuuri before he leaves. Although, that might be kind of creepy. And Yuuri might not even want to speak to him, after everything Viktor did. Viktor doesn't want to put Yuuri in a bad position again.

Viktor exhales frustratedly. He has no idea what to do.

A door opens behind him, and Viktor spins around again to see Yura marching up to him, a piece of paper clutched tightly in his fist and a thunderous look on his face. He stops an arms length away from Viktor and holds the paper out towards him, so close to Viktor's face that he has to take a step back to read it.

"Katsuki," it reads, in Yura's messy handwriting. "Viktor's your soulmate. Call him xxxx-xxx-xxx"

Viktor's barely finished reading it before Yura yanks the paper back, folds it clumsily in quarters and shoves it under the bottom of Yuuri's hotel room door.

"Idiot old man," Yura mutters, purposefully slamming into Viktor's shoulder as he barges past Viktor on his way to his room. The door slams shut again.

Viktor stares at Yura's door, a goofy grin breaking across his face. For all that Yura claims to hate everything about Viktor, he cared enough to help him, to find a solution to Viktor's problem more perfect than anything Viktor could have come up with himself, and to execute it in a way that didn't even belittle or vilify Viktor. The message didn't have a single insult or swear word.

Heart overflowing, Viktor looks at Yuuri's door once more. The letter really is perfect; it removes both the worry that Viktor won't be able to get in contact with Yuuri before he leaves tomorrow, and the terrifying concern that Yuuri will want Viktor to leave him alone. The letter puts the ball back in Yuuri's court, the power back in Yuuri's hands. The letter asks the question, now Viktor just has to wait for his answer.

Viktor blows a kiss toward the door of Yuuri's room, before turning to return to his own room. He feels more hopeful than he's felt about anything in a long time. Katsuki Yuuri is Viktor Nikiforov's soulmate, and Viktor's sure that Yuuri will call him in the morning. They'll work everything out and spend the rest of their lives together, laughing at how Viktor's ridiculousness almost kept them apart. They'll be happier than Viktor ever thought possible.

And if Yuuri doesn't call?

Well, Viktor doesn't deserve him anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Yuuri wakes up the next morning with no memories, no soulmark and no idea that his idol, who has never revealed his soulmark's location to the public due to his own misplaced shame, lost his on the same night.
> 
> Hungover, late and extremely sleep deprived, he doesn't notice the piece of paper Yuri slipped under his door in his rush to leave the hotel room.
> 
> He doesn't call.


End file.
